Someone Like You
by Ink On Paper
Summary: "Okay, just one question: What would this woman possibly see in you?"


**A/N: This is the big Obsession Tag that was mentioned ages ago. Of Comfort (from my Random Papers) is the prequel, but it doesn't have to be read beforehand to understand this -it just offers my explanation as to how they cleared the air and got over Dana. So here is the product of what probably is the most troublesome fic I've ever worked on. And I don't love this fic so let me know what you think if you want? Much love, keep the peace, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: Mashed potatoes.**

"I spoke to Brenda today."

There's a pause in the clatter of dishes being put away and she knows he heard. "Oh?" and his voice is one of feigned neutrality, benign indifference.

She bites her lip, smirking, "She asked me to thank you for dinner again. She still couldn't believe that you offered your services-"

"Ziva, _you_ offered my services. I'm lucky the guy didn't key my car."

"This is true," she accepts with a shrug. "But you did help her out and afterward you were able to explain legitimately as to why you're Facebook status was marked 'in a committed relationship.'"

"I did it for the benefit of the women in evidence lock-up."

"The baggie bunnies?" her clarification request is tempered with a wrinkled nose.

"The baggie bunnies with elevator eyes, yes," he confirms and she shudders theatrically. "Besides, no one reads that much into Facebook statuses but teenage girls."

"And Abby. And McGee. And evidently the baggie bunnies . . . . And then Gibbs."

"So does Brenda know . . . . you know," he gestures to the space between them.

"About us?" She shakes her head, "No. I just said that I had a friend who would love to help her out, no questions asked."

"Yeah," he sighs, "I guess it is hard to explain the phenomena of a computer illiterate marine learning how to work Facebook. I mean, who taught him that?" And Ziva laughs, turning around, leaning up against the cabinet, the edge of the counter biting into her lower back. She regards him with bright eyes, liquid chocolate alight with warmth and mirth. "So it did help? Brenda, I mean?"

"Yes," she says with a nod, grinning still, "It worked."

"Told ya it would," he gloats good naturedly, procuring an abandoned rag and beginning to swab the countertop.

Her face takes on an innocent expression as she asks demurely, "So you have had experience with making your boyfriends jealous?" And she chuckles at his glare, brushing past him to scale the countertop in search of a bottle of merlot that lurks somewhere on an upper shelf.

He watches her from his post beside the butcher block, his gaze softening as he enjoys his current view. Her tank top is rising up as she reaches for the wine, the white cotton exposing smooth gold skin and the glorious sight of the backside of her jeans, faded denim riding low on her hips . . . . "Enjoying the show, DiNozzo?" she wonders, uttering a soft, "Aha!" as her fingers enclose around the bottle neck.

"What if I am?" he retorts, still staring unabashedly at her butt.

"You could help me down," she suggests, twisting her head around to look at him, to quirk an eyebrow challengingly. He manages to keep his face blank as he crosses the kitchen to stand behind her, fully intending to take the chivalrous route until temptation beckoned and he obeyed.

"Hey!" Ziva's cry of protest is met by his muffled grunt as her barefoot connects with his ribs.

"No kicking," he chastises, grinning lopsided up at her as she glowers down at him.

"Then do not grab my ass."

"What if I like your ass?" And he watches, entertained, as she slips from the counter gracefully, coming to stand trapped between him and her abandoned perch, one hand on her hip, the other clutching her prize.

She rises up on her toes, leaning close to him, their noses a breadth apart. Her voice is low and her breath warm on his face as she asks, "Is that a requirement?"

"Requirement?" he wonders and she takes advantage of his momentary distraction to duck out from underneath him.

"One of your physical requirements, yes? For this woman you have been looking for?"

He cocks his head to the side, following her into the living room. "Miss Right," he says in comprehension, nodding. "I can honestly say it doesn't hurt her chances."

"Hm," she pretends to mull over this tidbit of information. ". . . . I never did get the rest of those physical requirements."

He shrugs, "You qualify."

Somehow she's standing before him once more, peering up at him through a fringe of thick lashes, "Oh? I am not tall or blonde or easy."

"I am a man of many surprises."

"Are you now?" she asks, voice velvet as she begins stepping backward toward the bedroom.

* * *

"Tell me more about this Miss Right," she implores, her fingertips dancing across his bare shoulders, down the plains of his back. She has her chin resting on his shoulder, tucked up against his side as he rests on his stomach with his eyes closed.

He sighs, a deep inhalation followed by a slow release of breath, her body rising and falling with his. "Let's see . . . . Independent."

"Mm."

"And intelligent."

"Okay."

"Successful . . . . Professional . . . ."

"You've given some thought to this," she observes, tracing random patterns up his spine.

"Well, yeah, Ziva. I'm, um, not, um, you know-"

"Getting any younger?" she supplies coyly before amending gently, "You are not that old, Tony."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And he grins and she buries her face between the junction of his shoulder and neck, pressing her lips against his skin.

"Hey, Ziva?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you so interested in my Miss Right?"

"So I can help you look for her," she replies simply, smoothly, as if it's obvious.

Or not obvious enough.

He rolls over onto his back, briefly dislodging her, but tugging her against him once more after he's resettled. The look he fixes her with is slightly incredulous, mildly disturbed, and thoroughly tender. "I don't think I'm going to keep looking," he tells her, his thumbs coming up to rub her cheek. She presses her face against his palm, regarding him intensely with a smile tugging at her lips.

"Have you given up?"

He shakes his head, "No. Not giving up."

"So you've found her?"

"I think so."

She offers him a warm smile, kissing his chest, right above his heart before laying her head down over the spot. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear and the only sound she can hear in the silence of the bedroom. Moments pass and she can feel his breathing slow as he slips into a deeper sleep.

"And Tony? Aside from the obvious physical requirements? She'd see a strong and kind man who is loyal and compassionate. He's forgiving and funny, but protective and quick. Smart, of course, and excellent at what he does. She'd see a good man," her voice is a whisper, stirring the air, feather-light. "I see a good man."

**A/N: So?**


End file.
